The line ends at the beginning
by ncis-lady
Summary: With trembling hands he set the timer and closed his eyes. Held his breath. Stalled. "Get it all back." Steve gets a second chance, and this time, he'll make things right. - ENDGAME SPOILERS - (T for some swearing)
1. Chapter 1

ENDGAME SPOILERS

.

.

.

.

.

.

ENDGAME SPOILERS

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Ok, seriously, spoilers.

.

.

.

.

I was very frustrated by the ending of Endgame and immediately tried to find a way how this could have worked without Steve messing up the past, or living in the past with Peggy while knowing that Bucky was going through Hell at the same time. The idea for this story popped up ca. 24 hours after watching the movie, and the more I've read and heard from the producers by now, the more I think it's not completely ridiculous.

* * *

**The line ends at the beginning**

_If two points are destined to touch, the universe will always find a way to make the connection – even when all hope seems to be lost. Certain ties cannot be broken. They define who we are – and who we can become. Across space, across time, among paths we cannot predict – nature always finds a way. (Savi Sharma)_

**2023 – present day**

He watched as the shield was handed from one Captain to another. Bucky didn't interrupt the moment, and if he hastily wiped away a tear from his eye, no one was looking at him to notice. Ten seconds had passed, just enough for two intakes of breath, and still lives had been changed forever.

_Get your life back_, he had whispered, for no one but Steve to hear.

Finally Steve turned towards him. He looked… old. But as he came nearer, Bucky could see that the deep lines of worry and sorrow that he'd seen just a few blinks before weren't quite as deep, the frown gone, and somehow he looked younger than ever before.

He looked _happy_.

"Hey, punk," he said when Steve stood before him. It was all he could say for a moment. His throat restricted. Ten seconds, and yet, a lifetime.

"Buck. Oh God, Buck."

A reflection of light caught Bucky's eye, and it was then that he didn't care anymore. He pulled Steve close, pressing his chin against the familiar shoulder.

"You found her, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did, Buck."

There had been a time when Bucky would have been embarrassed to find his lower lip trembling. But a lot had changed, for both of them. When they parted, Bucky found his friend's eyes shining as well.

He had to know. It was a question he feared to ask, but he _had_ to know if the farewell, the missed years together with his friend, had been worth it.

"Steve, did I - I – did I become –"

He fought against the tremor in his voice.

"Was I… happy?"

* * *

**2014**

One left.

Of all the stones, the soul stone was the last to return to its original place.

One last stone, and then he'd go back.

Vormir was a dark place that sent shivers down Steve's spine. He stood at the cliff and tried to block out the thought of Natasha and Clint. He had one job. Just one.

The Red Skull must find the stone and become its Keeper.

Involuntarily Steve glanced over his shoulder as if Schmidt could appear out of nowhere. But there was no one in sight. Maybe the Keeper only showed up when the stone was to be retrieved, but not when it was returned. They had speculated about it, back at the compound, going even so far as to wonder if returning the stone might bring a soul back from the dead.

Wishful thinking, nothing more.

He stretched out his hand and opened his fingers. Silently the stone fell from his palm and into the abyss, out of sight. The wind bit at Steve's skin, making his eyes water.

"Thank you, Nat," he whispered.

Only then did he allow himself a moment of stillness. He felt every single one of his more than 100 years. The time jumps were worse than any time shift that he'd experienced during the missions with the Avengers. Time travel was not a means of transportation he would ever get used to.

However, it wasn't really time travel. He knew that much. Time wasn't a road that one could simply go back and forth on. Steve still couldn't say that he really understood the concept of quantum realms and multiverses, even though Banner and Strange had explained it more than once. All he knew was that it worked.

It _worked_.

He twirled the small glass ampoule between his fingers. Their voices echoed in his head. Her picture floated before his eyes.

With trembling hands he set the timer and closed his eyes. Held his breath. Stalled.

_Get it all back._


	2. Chapter 2

Well, this is where it gets speculative. Let me know what you think.

Warning: explicit language (they're soldiers, after all)

* * *

**1944 - Austria**

The waiting was the worst. Steve knew the mountain range; even the cold felt horribly familiar. On any other day, to any other man, the Alps would have been a spectacular sight to behold. For Steve they were the background to a series of nightmares.

He remembered the moment down to the last detail. The wind, the ice, the strain in his arm as he reached, the unfathomable horror when the last screw holding the metallic rail came lose and fell, and the end of the line turned out to be nothing but darkness and agony. He had dreamed of these seconds more often than he could count, more often than not waking with a scream on his lips. Steve had, for a long time, thought that Bucky's death was his biggest failure. Only in 2014 had he learned that his biggest failure was the fact that he could have jumped, and didn't.

Not today.

Carefully, he climbed down the steep ravine, just so far that no one could see him from the train that was soon to speed by.

The waiting was the worst, and part of him still thought he should have come earlier. Everything HYDRA had already done, he might have stopped it, he thought while the wind bit at his skin. It was a foolish thought, he knew that much, since they had discussed it over and over again, but still… No. He had to focus.

Steve sensed the approaching train before he could hear it. There was a soft vibration that shook the mountain wall, and then a small noise that grew steadily louder. When Steve pushed the button on his nanoglove, his hands were shaking in sync with the ra-ta-ta of the train.

He had tested it before, of course, but still the nanotechnology never seized to amaze him. He watched, mesmerized, as the particles spread and enclosed him in a suit that was as hard as steel and yet incredibly light.

He counted down the seconds in his head. The earth shook as the train approached, and he didn't even have to look up to know what was happening.

The shadow fell, and seconds stretched into eternity.

Just one shot.

He activated the repulsors. All the tests couldn't have prepared him for this, and for a few horrifying seconds he thought he'd fail, again. But the speed of the suit was unmatchable. The shadow transformed into a form, a person, and Steve reached, reached, _reached_ and finally dug his fingers into the fabric of the familiar blue jacket.

Wide, horrified eyes met his, and for a moment everything else seemed to stand still.

_I got you. _

The next second, the added weight and the pull of gravity threw Steve off balance and the world turned upside down.

"Hold on!" he yelled, desperately trying to bring the suit back into maneuvering position while maintaining his grip on Bucky. The mountain walls were dangerously close.

_Repulsor correction initiated. Slow down suggested._

"I'm trying, damnit!"

A small cliff slowed their fall for a brief moment. Steve barely registered the pain shooting up his side as he collided with the rock; all he could think about was trying to get a hold of the stone to stop the fall. But the surface was covered in ice, and his fingers slipped.

His left hand was still holding on to Bucky.

Suddenly the tumbling stopped. The ground was thirty feet away.

_Repulsors stabilized. Initiate landing._

When he felt the earth beneath his feet, Steve's legs gave way and he and Bucky landed unceremoniously in the snow.

_Suit deactivation initiated._

Steve groaned and pressed a hand against his bruised ribs. He barely registered the way the nanoparticles transformed into the glove again. Every intake of breath sent peaks of pain shoot up his side.

Beside him, Bucky winced and struggled to get to his feet.

_Bucky._

"I did it," Steve rasped, feeling oddly light all of a sudden despite the cold and pain. "I did – I – oh God, Buck."

He reached out, but Bucky suddenly recoiled, hastily trying to stand up.

"No, stay away!"

"Buck, it's me, it's –"

"You're not him! It's a trick, isn't it?" The panic in Bucky's eyes nearly killed Steve there and then. "You're one of them, you're – no, no, I won't…"

He stumbled backwards, one hand searching for and finding a tree to help him stay upright, the other hand shakily going towards the side of his belt where Steve knew his holster was attached.

"Buck, stop!"

There was no gun, obviously. He had lost it on the train after he'd emptied the last clip of ammo, and Bucky seemed to remember that the same moment as Steve. His face became white, his panicked eyes standing out as they stared at Steve, his lips forming a string of curses and "not again"s.

_He used to carry a knife in his boot._

Steve lunged at his friend, sending him to the ground and wrestling with him for a solid ten seconds before he got hold of the knife.

"Stop – this – Buck – it's me!" he wheezed, pinning Bucky in place and apologizing internally for the additional bruises that Bucky would soon be sporting.

"Liar!" Bucky snarled, writhing underneath him. "You fucked me up, you – you – Nazi bastards! You won't get to me again, I swear to God, I'll kill you, I'll kill _myself_, I'll – I'll –"

"You thought I was smaller."

The words came without thinking, quietly, and Steve hadn't really thought about them ever since he'd first heard them. But with these five words, all fight left his friend, and for a moment Bucky just froze. His eyes were still full of fear, and it was almost enough for Steve to up and leave and hunt down Zola and Schmidt immediately.

"Is this… real?" Bucky whispered, blinking once, twice, and Steve was reminded of the moment he'd pulled him off the table in Krausberg. The confusion, the recognition, the faint smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, Buck, it's real. I'm me. I'm Steve. I used to wear newspapers in my shoes, remember?"

He could feel Bucky finally relaxing, and carefully he let go. Bucky pushed himself off the ground, but didn't stand up immediately. He leant heavily against a tree, eyes trained on Steve.

"But you were on the train. You look different."

Steve sat down opposite him, taking a moment to consider his options. It was hard enough as it was to keep a clear head. Inside, he was shaking as the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. Part of him still couldn't believe he had actually done it. His eyes were burning and he blinked hastily before running his sleeve across his face.

"Steve?"

"Are you hurt?" he asked, knowing fully well that he was stalling.

"My leg's kinda screwed and my arm hurts like hell. Must've hit the rock on the way down. Nothin' life-threatening." Bucky laughed mirthlessly. "Gonna heal in a fortnight, thanks to Zola's efforts. I never told you this, but whatever he shot me up with – I think it made me immortal. Remember that bullet I took three months ago? Healed in three days when it should've killed me. Lucky me."

"Buck –"

"Makes me wonder if maybe I would've survived this," he waved dismissively at the sky above and the gigantic mountain walls, "even without you saving my ass."

"You did," said Steve, tonelessly, hand and heart cold and tears on his cheeks. "You did, Buck and I – I didn't – I never – God, Buck, I'm so sorry."

The tears came, finally, after five years, and he balled his hands to fists and willed himself to stop, but even as he bit his trembling lip and dug his fingernails into his skin he couldn't stop. He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched.

"You've really had it rough, pal, haven't you?" Bucky mumbled, and it was enough to turn Steve's tears into an embarrassing mixture of sobbing and disbelieving laughter.

"I've had – _I've_ had? Yeah, that's –"

A noise made him freeze. He grabbed Bucky's arm, but the other had already noticed. He paled visibly and again reached for the knife in his boot. In a swift motion, Steve was on his feet and pressed his thumbs against the insides of his palms. Soundlessly, the gloves turned into weapons. Bucky stared at them for a moment, then turned his head towards Steve. His insides did an unpleasant twist when he saw the wild glint in his friend's eyes.

"I'm not going back," Bucky stated flatly. "If things go south, make sure they don't get me again."

Steve heard the underlying plea.

_Whatever the cost._

He choked down the bitter taste in his mouth and scanned his surroundings. He heard footsteps, murmuring, and he knew that whoever was coming didn't even consider the possibility that they'd meet anyone able to fight back.

But today, they would.


	3. Chapter 3

Time for the truth.

* * *

**1944 - Austria**

When he saw the first figure approach, Steve didn't hesitate. Two uniformed men were down before they could even shout; a third opened fire.

"Get down!" Steve yelled at Bucky, willing him to seek cover. Bucky crouched behind a tree, face rigid and pale, one hand raised with his fingers clamped around the hilt of his knife. Steve stormed forward, shooting blast after blast out of the hands. A stray bullet caught his upper arm, and for a split second he thought that he should have brought the advanced, full-body suit instead. But the next second, the shooting stopped. Clicking noises and frightful curses in Russian told Steve everything he needed to know. With two more steps he reached the man, grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and almost threw up at the sight of the red star emblem. Furiously he sent the man to his knees.

"Не стреляй в меня, пожалуйста!"

The blast hit him square in the chest.

Panting heavily, Steve retreated, not sparing a second glance for the unknown man. He quickly checked on the other two.

"Dead," he confirmed, more to himself than to Bucky.

Bucky appeared at his side. With an unreadable expression on his face he looked down onto the dead soldiers.

"You killed them all," he stated flatly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. And Steve remembered: this Bucky only knew the Steve who didn't want to kill anyone.

"Buck –"

"We should hide the bodies. Make sure they don't catch our trail."

Bucky had always been practical, after all. Both mean worked quickly and quietly, and soon all evidence of the encounter was almost gone. Only then did Steve allow himself to catch a breath. He inspected the gunshot wound briefly, but dismissed it as nothing to worry about.

"Let's find shelter," he suggested, but Bucky didn't budge.

"I'm not going anywhere before you explain this."

"I will, once we get out of the cold."

Bucky planted his feet firmly into the ground. If he was shaken by the whole experience, he had a good way of hiding it, and Steve was suddenly reminded of their first goodbye, less than two years and more than a lifetime ago. Bucky had raised his chin and smiled cockily, and he'd talked so proudly of being assigned to the 107th that one could almost have missed the sliver of fear behind the brave words.

"Steve, please. What's going on? How could you – I mean, you didn't jump after me, did you? I don't have Stark's fashion sense but I know the uniform. And this"- he motioned towards where the three soldiers were buried – "isn't you. But then again, you are, and I don't know – I'm not – am I crazy?"

He looked confused, and incredibly lost, and Steve wondered if Bucky could hear his heart breaking. He slumped on the ground, not caring about the snow and the chill that was increasing with every passing minute.

"No, Buck, you're not crazy. I am _me_, but…"

He couldn't bring himself to say it. It sounded so ridiculous even in his own head. He ran a hand through his hair and wished he'd planned this whole thing through more carefully.

Bucky sat down beside him, but Steve noticed that he kept a small distance. He was wary, and rightly so, and again Steve wondered if he should have come sooner.

"First of all," he began, slowly, "remember that we promised each other the end of the line."

His throat restricted for a moment.

"I couldn't keep that promise, Buck. You – you fell. Today."

"But –"

"A part of me died, too, you know. If it hadn't been for Peggy… but I failed her, too. I was too caught up with myself, with that anger and – and grief, God Buck, I _grieved_ for you, I did –"

"Steve –"

"And another me is grieving right now, up there on that damn train, and it won't be long till that idiot crashes a plane into the ice before he ever gets to dance with his girl and apologize to his best friend's parents for his failure and…"

Steve's voice had become raw, and still Bucky was just sitting there, dirt on his face, some blood on his sleeve and curiosity and fear battling in his eyes.

"He'll wake up in 2011 – you can flinch, it's alright, I could never imagine a year starting with a 2, either – and everyone he knew will be old, or gone, and he'll pick up his shield again and fight again 'cause it's all he knows. He'll fight terrorists and aliens and –"

He stopped himself at the last moment. He could not – _would not_ – speak of the first fight he'd ever backed out of.

"And he'll lose it all, again, sometime in the future. I know this, because I've lived through it. In another timeline."

The words echoed between the two men, and for a while there was only silence. Steve didn't know what he'd expected from Bucky. Laughter, probably. A panic attack, maybe. But Bucky just sat still, forehead wrinkled, mouth moving soundlessly as he always did when he was concentrating hard on something.

"Prove it."

Steve flinched.

With shaking hands he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He was fully aware that it was of no use here, not really. Mobile phones were still many years away, and the screen only said "no signal". But the memory card still worked.

With three clicks, Steve reached the video he'd been searching for.

_Buck. If you're watching this, don't freak out. You just fell off a train, and I know you'll think your brain's playing tricks on you. But this newspaper – it's from 2023. See the TV here?_

The camera went from Steve's face and the newspaper he was holding up to a huge plasma screen_. _

_It's gonna be a sunny day on the 23__rd__ September 2023, I suppose. _

A small pause, then -

_I lost you on December 20, 1944. _

Bucky made a small, gasping sound.

_I died in March '45. I missed the dance with the love of my life, and when I came back in 2011 it was too late. And this life – it's just not the same. But there are some smart guys here, and it's fucking 2023 and I – I think I'll get a second chance._

The video stopped.

Steve watched Bucky nervously. Eventually, his friend looked at him.

"They are right, then?" he asked. His voice was unbelievably calm, but his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Stark once rambled on and on about parallel universes, about how some scientists believe there's an infinite number of universes… He was drunk but... Holy cow, it's real, isn't it? I died and you… you came back. Saved my sorry ass once more."

"You believe me, just like that?"

"You've never given me reason not to."

Steve smiled for the first time in forever. Part of him still couldn't believe that this was really happening. For twelve years this mountain range and the river that ran its peaceful course amidst the rocks had been the center of his every nightmare. The blurred form of a broken figure bleeding out on the barren ground had haunted him whenever he'd closed his eyes, and then haunted him some more when the dead eyes of his nightmares suddenly stared back at him on a bridge in Washington. And now he was here. They both were. Bruised and scarred and finally on the right side of fate.

* * *

"Не стреляй в меня, пожалуйста!" = Don't shoot me, please!

A/N 1: I know on the Marvel wiki it says Bucky died in early 1945. However, the memorial wall said 1944, so I went with that. Although it means poor Steve had to spend Christmas without him :(

A/N 2: In 1952 Erwin Schrödinger first mentioned that "when his equations seemed to describe several different histories, these were "not alternatives, but all really happen simultaneously"". (Wikipedia on Multiverse theory) So to me it doesn't seem too far-fetched that a genius like Howard Stark would already have heard about the idea or maybe even come up with it himself, and that a science nerd like Bucky would remember this.


	4. Chapter 4

**1944 - Austria**

"Will you be alright, Buck?"

Bucky nodded.

"Yeah… no… I don't know. Ask me again tomorrow. Part of me still thinks it's a pretty messed-up dream."

Steve didn't want to press him. But it would get dark soon, and there were still miles to go before they could sleep and, in Bucky's case, process everything.

"You think you can walk? There's a cabin two miles down South."

Bucky took a deep breath, then pushed himself to his feet. For a split second his face twisted into a grimace, and he pressed his right hand against his left shoulder.

"That's gonna hurt like hell tomorrow. Any chance you brought some fancy advanced medicine from your future?" He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm calling it. I'm crazy. _Your future. _Ridiculous."

"I know. Just as crazy as being frozen for seven decades." Steve stood up as well and brushed some snow off his pants. The bruises and the graze on his arm made themselves known immediately. But he knew that they'd both had it much, much worse.

Side by side, the two men set off to find the cabin that Steve had seen when he'd scouted the area. Steve had never told anyone just how much he hated the cold. As a kid, the cold New York air had made his damaged lungs burn more painfully than during the summer, and although his enhanced body could now easily deal with freezing temperatures, his mind could not. It wasn't like he could remember the years in the ice, but he remembered, faintly, the impact. The ice closing in on him, the creaking, moaning sound of the dying plane, and the nightmarish cold creeping up on him before the world had turned black.

He was acutely aware of the sideway glances Bucky threw him. It told Steve that, despite his words, Bucky still didn't fully believe him. And how could he? The story was absurd. Yet, somehow, Bucky trusted him as always.

It wasn't a long march, but even Steve was getting more and more exhausted. Once or twice Bucky stumbled, cursed, and soldiered on. The light was waning, and Steve almost sighed with relief when he made out the outline of the cabin.

"You sure we won't have company?" Bucky asked, stopping to scan the place from the distance.

"Positive."

"I hope you're right, pal."

Steve led the way, with Bucky following closely behind, and the cabin was indeed abandoned. Once inside, Steve barricaded the door.

"We should get some rest," he said and reached inside the pocket of his jacket. "I'm afraid we can't really set up a fire, so no three course menu today. These gotta do."

He tossed a protein bar to Bucky, whose reflexes were as alert as ever. Bucky eyed the bar suspiciously.

"Looks like the kind of stuff Stark set up for you." He took a bite and narrowed his eyes. "Tastes like shit. But then again, this place ain't exactly the Ritz so what am I expecting?"

He laughed a little shakily, and Steve understood that Bucky was trying to keep up a brave façade but was almost failing.

"They'll tear down the Ritz in 1951," said Steve cautiously.

Bucky took another bite off his scarce dinner.

"But there'll be so many buildings there, huge skyscrapers… and flat screens with videos, and cars, God Buck, so many cars."

Another bite.

"You remember Howard's flying car? Hate to disappoint you, but that's not gonna happen anytime soon. But –"

He couldn't go on. He couldn't look at Bucky who tried so hard to pretend he was fine and could almost hide the way his hand was shaking. He couldn't act like nothing had happened, like the last 3 hours hadn't turned his world upside down.

"So, are we gonna talk about this? Buck?"

Finally Bucky looked at him.

"What's to talk about? I zip-lined onto a train, killed some Nazis, made a fool out of myself screaming like a girl when I fell hundreds of feet to my not-death, and learned that time travel is a thing in the next century. No big deal."

"Bucky –"

"Of course nothing's fine, you idiot!" Bucky blurted out. He started to pace the small room and slammed his balled fist onto the wooden table in the corner. "I died today, Steve! At least I thought I would, and I – I was fuckin' scared! I'm not a hero, like you, so excuse me if I have a hard time dealing with all this!"

He breathed heavily, and Steve stood still, unmoving, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. Somehow, it felt like Bucharest all over again.

"When you fell," he said instead, quietly, "I was terrified. More terrified than I had ever been, and probably ever will be. I wasn't a hero. Didn't feel like one. Gabe and Monty took Zola in. Not me. I just clung to the side of that train and tried to remember how to breathe. I was so paralyzed that I couldn't let go for another 20 minutes. By then it was too late to jump, and it's still the biggest regret of my life."

Bucky finally slumped down on the nearest chair and propped his elbows up on the table. He scanned the inside of the cabin before he trained his eyes on Steve again.

"You wanna know what I thought when that rail came lose? Just a flash of thought before fear took over. I thought, thank God it's me, not him."

The words sent a stabbing sensation right through Steve's chest.

"Buck –"

"No, Steve. It's true. It'd rather be me. After all I've done, maybe I deserved that."

For a short moment, Steve remembered the flight to Wakanda, all those years ago.

_But I did it._

He bit his lower lip and made two steps towards his friend.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Buck. I know you haven't."

"I've killed people."

"Nazis."

"_People_, Steve. Not just HYDRA goons, but men like you and me, doing their bit for the Reich because they have to, and praying to God that they'll get to see their families again."

Steve took a deep breath. He knew those thoughts. No matter what the officers said, what the politicians said, what everyone said who hadn't been there – these thoughts came and couldn't be brushed off with a "That's war, son" and a well-meant clap on the back.

"I know, Buck," he replied. "It doesn't seem right, and it's gonna haunt us for a long time, but you know what that makes us? Human. You know what also makes us human? Being afraid to die."

"Look at you, getting all philosophical."

"Call it life experience." A small smile tugged at Bucky's mouth. "There's nothing heroic about killing. It's something they never tell you at the recruitment stations. I don't think any of us knew what we signed up for."

Bucky mumbled something unintelligible.

"Come again?"

"I said, I never signed up for it."

The statement took Steve more by surprise than it should have. His initial reaction was disbelief. Of course Bucky had volunteered, one day in '42 when another round of telegrams had caused uncountable tears in the neighborhood. He'd said he would. But even as Steve thought about it, it all fell into place, and he wondered how he could have missed this all these years.

He'd never really taken a close look at the dog tags. There had never been a body to identify, after all. He'd only ever seen the military ID on the SHIELD file, and at that time he couldn't really stand to look at it a second longer than necessary.

"3 – 2 – 5 – 5 – 7 …" he said, seeing the typewriter letters clearly before his inner eye. "Drafted."

"Yeah. Heroic me."

Steve shook his head. It was a new revelation, and part of him wanted to know why Bucky had never told him, but he realized it wasn't his question to ask right now.

"Drafted or not, you gave your all. That's it, that's all that matters."

"Not to me."

"Oh for God's sake, James Buchanan Barnes, stop it!" For a split second Steve was taken aback by his own outburst. Bucky raised his eyebrows. "You are so much stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for, and I just wish you could see that, you goddamn jerk."

In that moment he wished he could tell Bucky everything. About how he fought back for so long in captivity, about how he fought against the brainwashing again and again after every defeat, how he saved Steve on the helicarrier and was willing to return to his personal Hell in Siberia to defend a world that wanted him dead.

But he'd made a promise.

Bucky didn't respond right away. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Guess I have to take your word for that."

"You've always seen the best in me. It's time to have it the other way round, don't you think?"

"Whatever you say, pal."

Outside it was already dark, although it couldn't be later than 6pm. A small lamp was all that Steve was willing to risk. He sat down opposite Bucky and for a while the two men just sat there, nibbling at their protein bars. Steve's head was spinning. He could hardly believe that he'd gotten this far, but it had been an emotional ride up to this point. He glanced at Bucky when he knew he wasn't looking. There was no telling how much the near death experience and the time travel revelations would affect him. And it wasn't over yet. This was only the first stage of the plan, and again Steve found himself at a point where he didn't know what he'd do if things didn't work out.

"So, what's up next?" Bucky asked as if on cue. "Gotta make our way to an area that's not occupied. That's gonna be fun."

"The war will be over soon. Until then…" Steve hesitated. This part of the plan was risky, to put it mildly. There were too many imponderabilities for Steve's liking, and if just one step went wrong, everything might fall apart. "Buck, remember when I said I – the other me, I mean – will crash a plane in March '45?"

"Yes."

"Remember when I said that I – he – did that because he was reckless angry and grieving?"

"Steve –"

"I don't think I would have acted the way I did if it hadn't been for you. I hate to say it but you're like, 80 percent of my impulse control. Seriously, those days I was a mess, and losing you… it changed me. Not necessarily for the better. I wanted to burn HYDRA to the ground and I didn't mind burning with them if that's what it would take."

Bucky didn't interject, but simply nodded as if he hadn't expected anything else. And that was probably true, Steve thought and remembered the moment in the HYDRA base. The chasm of fire between them, the world around them exploding and falling apart, and the expression on Bucky's face when he'd decided to rather stay and die than leave Steve behind.

_No, not without you._

It always came down to this.

"We need to cover our tracks until March. I – the other me – can't know that you're alive. Peggy can't know."

Bucky's face grew pale.

"But you – he – you'll suffer. You said so yourself. You want me to just sit by and do nothing while somewhere out there you're crying over me? Cause you better be crying, Captain Rogers, and have the pretty Miss Carter console you in whichever way you need." The laugh at his own joke didn't reach his eyes, and Steve didn't even smile. "Seriously, Steve, I don't think that's necessary. I _know_ you. Even with me around, you'll find a way to get on that plane and – oh."

Realization struck and Bucky buried his face in his hands. Steve nodded sadly.

"Yeah. If he – I – any version of me, for that matter – gets on that plane, you'll be there, too. Cause I know _you_, and even if you promised me here and now that you'll let things play out the way they should… that's a promise you'd break."

"Possibly."

"You've got to trust me on this. Tomorrow, we'll head West. We should try to get to Switzerland."

"More mountains," Bucky lifted his head and winked. Steve appreciated his attempt to lift the spirits.

"Yes, more mountains. But it's neutral territory. Maybe we'll get to borrow a car."

"What, not an aircraft? Color me shocked. Seems like you're an imposter after all."

"The Swiss aren't too fond of Allied aircrafts in their airspace."

"It was a joke, Steve."

"Oh."

Steve pulled a map out of his pocket and unfolded it on the table. With his index finger he drew a straight line from where they were to the small country of Switzerland. As far as he knew, the Swiss had remained neutral during the war and would hopefully not only grant asylum to two Americans, but also refrain from asking too many questions. Once again Steve was overwhelmed by the knowledge he had. It was almost 1945 and the odds were already against Hitler, and many of the Allied forces were hoping to end the war before the next summer. But no one could be sure. Even in '39 some had thought the war would be over by Christmas. Steve Rogers was the only person in the world who knew how and when it would end.

He tried not to think about the Manhattan project.

"I guess it's about 400 miles. Are you up for this?"

He gave Bucky a scrutinizing look, just as Bucky had done so many times when he'd plucked a much skinnier Steve from yet another back alley fight. If he was honest, Bucky did _not_ look like he was up for a multiple days march. He looked utterly exhausted, and Steve remembered the way he had stumbled on the way.

"How's your leg?"

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

"How's _your_ bullet wound?"

"We've been through this, Buck. It doesn't work like that."

"Fine," Bucky sighed and carefully rolled up the leg of his pants. "Just bruised, no need to fret."

Steve snorted.

"Let me have a look."

With only mild complaining, Bucky propped his leg up on the table. The knee was swollen, a long graze ran down all the way to his ankle, and Steve could only imagine that by next morning, the skin would be all shades of blue and green.

"Told you I'm fine."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Bucky quickly made the injury disappear underneath the fabric and looked sternly at Steve.

"If there was any doubt I me that I can do this, I'd tell you. I won't put your life on the line by slowing you down. I'm not gonna screw up your happy ending."

"My –"

"That's your plan, isn't it? Get back to Peggy?"

"Not without you."

"No, I suppose not without me." Bucky smiled a little. "If she has a friend, we can finally go on a double date that won't end with me trying to make excuses for your bailing out. Good times ahead."

To his embarrassment, Steve felt his eyes starting to sting again. It sounded so simple, and therefore, too good to be true. But they were here, alive, and they had a whole life ahead of them. If he looked closely, he could still see the ghost of Zola in his friend's eyes, but there was also a sparkle in them that he had rarely seen ever since Bucky had come out of cryo in Wakanda.

"I'm sorry." Steve flinched when Bucky's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Sorry?" he echoed, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Would there ever be a time when Bucky would not feel the need to apologize? At least in this reality, he should not feel guilty, and yet he was sitting there opposite him looking like the world and Steve's life rested on his shoulders. "Sorry for what?"

"Dying."

The single word was enough to make Steve lose the battle against his emotions. He could feel the tears rolling down his face, and suddenly Bucky's hand was on his lower arm.

"I'm so sorry, Stevie. I never meant to leave you like this."

Steve could hear the unshed tears in the hoarse voice. His lips trembled as they gave a small, disbelieving laugh.

"You never – _you_? I left you."

"Well, you came back, didn't you? So that's that." Bucky's thumb made small circles on his left sleeve. "It's gonna be alright. We're gonna be alright."

It still took a while for Steve to regain his composure. He was aware that it was actually the first time he had cried in front of Bucky. It was one of the few things he had always made sure: Steven Grant Rogers did not cry in front of others. He'd yelled and screamed once or twice in anger or frustration, but most of the time his emotions had made themselves shown in his silences. He'd bite his lips to keep them from trembling, or dig his fingernails into his hand, of tear apart the paper that held his newest sketch – but never would he let anyone see his tears. Even when his mother had died, he'd fought hard to be strong. Bucky had never commented on it, just offered a listening ear and a sparring round at the boxing club, and Steve had always known that Bucky would have his back.

_Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky._

He rubbed his face with his right hand and withdrew the left from Bucky's grasp. He took a deep breath.

"Get some rest, Buck. We should get an early start tomorrow."

The suggestion was met with approval. Ultimately, the two men flipped a coin on who would get to sleep on the couch and who'd get the floor, and Steve was glad this put an end to a long argument before it even started. He didn't mind sleeping on the floor. He'd had worse, and he wasn't so sure if he'd sleep much anyway. Bucky's adrenaline seemed to rush off, though. He yawned heartily as he lay down on the small couch, then winced when he tried to lay on his side. Grumpily, he proceeded to find a somewhat comfortable position.

"Alternative timeline," Steve heard him mutter. "Time travel. Gotta be shitting me."

Steve listened to his ramblings, but didn't interrupt his friend. He stared into the dark, up at the ceiling he could not see, and just prayed that Bucky was right. They'd be alright. Just this once, in this one timeline, he'd make things right.


	5. Chapter 5

**1944 - Austria**

Neither Steve nor Bucky slept well that night. A million thoughts whirled inside Steve's head, and the worry about this timeline's Bucky was just one of them. He could hear his friend mumbling in his sleep, something he only ever did when he was stressed, and he knew he'd be tossing and turning if he was sleeping in a real bed instead of the narrow couch.

The other Bucky was the same. Steve remembered all the times he'd spent in Wakanda before and after Bucky's de-cryogenation; he remembered the nights they'd stayed up until the early hours of the morning, talking, listening to music, watching TV or sometimes just being content with each other's company while doing different things. But in sleep, the nightmares returned, and the first nights that they'd shared a room had been tough for both of them.

It had been a long journey.

Steve had taken up drawing again, while Bucky had surprised everyone when he'd decided to tend to the goats and sheep grazing on the outskirts of the city. Steve clearly recalled how he had spoken to him on Skype, and how Bucky's eyes had lit up when he'd talked about the first newborn goat of the little herd. He'd been sporting a messy beard, unkempt hair, and his shirt had seen better days, but he'd looked _happy_. The next time they'd met had been the first time that Bucky had slept soundlessly.

They'd had one and a half years before Steve had lost him again. Ironically, despite Bucky's "death" in the war and Steve's 70 years in the eyes, the five years after the snap had actually been the longest that Bucky had ever been completely gone. It seemed so surreal now, and Steve's thoughts drifted to Natasha. They had all been a mess after the snap and the failed attempt at undoing it, but out of the two of them, Steve knew without any doubt who the strongest Avenger was. She'd been his rock during his worst times – and there had been many worst times. He owed her so much, and now he would never get the chance to repay her.

He was almost glad when it was time to get up, even though he hadn't slept at all.

He woke Bucky up, who looked as terrible as Steve felt, and who groaned when he moved from the couch.

"Is it wrong to say that I'd like to be back in the bunk bed at camp?" He winced when he stood up and put weight on his leg, then massaged his left shoulder, something that Steve noticed but decided not to comment on after their previous argument. Steve briefly inspected his own injury, but as expected, the bullet graze had already healed sufficiently. His bruised ribs made themselves known as he stretched, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

"Are you up for this, Buck?"

Bucky nodded.

"It's just… I didn't dream it, did I? You really are from the future."

"Yeah."

"So tell me when."

"What are you talking about?"

"When will the war be over? You said it'd be soon, but I'd rather mark it down in my calendar to make dinner reservations. You know, to celebrate."

He laughed nervously, and Steve realized that he had to tell Bucky at least part of the truth. It made believing a little bit easier. However, he also remembered what Strange had told him.

_If I tell you, it won't happen._

"Is it enough to know that it won't be long?"

"Come on-"

"I can't tell you, Buck. I wish I could. There are so many things I wish I could tell you, but there are rules. And to be honest, I still don't really understand how this whole thing works and I'm… I'm scared."

Bucky gave him a quizzical look.

"What are you scared about?"

"Of messing up. What if I do something wrong and screw everything up? For all I know, just one wrong move could wreak havoc."

Bucky stayed silent for a moment, before he shrugged lightly with his good shoulder.

"Well, for all _I_ know, everyone on this planet could, at any point, do something that'll lead to complete chaos. It doesn't have to be you. The world doesn't rest on your shoulders, Steve. Neither its peace nor its destruction." He bit his lip. "The other Steve, however…"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Steve interrupted him. "Let's get going."

He'd packed some cans of food that he'd found in a cupboard and filled the water flask. He had a vague idea of where the nearest village was and he could only hope that the residents would at least be indifferent to two Americans on the run. Until then, the sparse provisions would have to suffice.

When the cabin door closed behind them and the wind began to bite at his face again, Steve found himself praying for the first time in years. Help me make the right decisions, he asked, and find the right way to do better this time.

It took them five days until they reached the border.

Both Steve and Bucky had been on missions before, so in some way it was nothing new. But then again, everything was different. It gave them time to get to know each other again, even though Steve hadn't expected them to actually need this time. But in some way, they were both strangers to the other. Many years had passed since Steve had last seen the young Bucky, and even now his friend's younger self was different from the one who'd died all those decades ago. Adding to the experiences during the war in general, and with Zola in particular, now came the memories of his near-death and the fact that his best friend had come back from the future.

He woke up screaming one night, and it reminded Steve so much of Bucky's post-Winter Soldier nightmares in Wakanda that he almost wished for a HYDRA troop to find them.

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to struggle with the new Steve sometimes. He wasn't to blame, really, Steve understood. He was different from the man Bucky had died for – wearier, harder, more cynical. And he knew things, and Bucky knew he couldn't tell him, but it was clear that this bothered him no matter how much he tried to hide it. They watched Steve's video again from time to time, and when Bucky came too close to disbelieving the whole time travel story Steve would tell him something small, always wondering if his talking about it would lead to it not happening at all. But he decided that it was worth it. It might be selfish, he knew that, but he wanted to show Bucky that he was still the same, deep down. Still worth dying for.

They dodged the German troops three times during their trip, and the cold was an additional enemy that gave them a hard time. Steve had calculated the trips, based on where the villages were located, and to his immense belief most villagers were friendly. There were the occasional odd looks, but most of the time he and Bucky weren't bothered by anyone. They only ever stayed for the night, content with anything that gave them a roof over the head. They couldn't pay for provisions, so they tried to repay the people by offering a helping hand here and there. Bucky was a decent mechanic and Steve's strength came in handy on more than one occasion. It still wasn't a fair trade, given that the villagers risked their lives by collaborating with allied troops, and Steve promised that he wouldn't forget their kindness and repay his debt eventually.

One day's march from Switzerland, luck failed them.

Steve sensed it early on and when he scouted the village from afar, his fears proved to be right. There were German troops in the village, with some soldiers patrolling the area, and Steve and Bucky didn't need to discuss it. There was no way for them to spend the night there. It wasn't their own lives they worried about, but the lives of those who might be caught in the crossfire. So they marched on as far as they could, hoping to find some sort of cabin. Steve even contemplated walking through the night, but he dismissed the idea quickly. Four days on the run had taken their toll. They both needed rest, super-soldier serum or not.

They were both dead on their feet when they finally found shelter in the form of a rock formation. There wasn't much space and the wind came from the side, freezing on Steve's cheeks and making his eyes water.

Bucky had his collar turned up against the wind and buried his hands in his pockets. He wrung his scarf around his head to cover his ears and sighed quietly.

"That's gonna be a long night." His teeth chattered as he spoke.

They huddled closely together, like they had done on more than one mission before. But in some way, they were still strangers, and Steve hated the awkwardness that was still between them. In the past, the proximity wouldn't have been an issue. They were soldiers, after all. There was a certain intimacy that came naturally when you spent too much time in the field, something beyond the camaraderie that Steve had later on experienced with the Avengers. Here it took some getting used to, but there was no other option. Steve could feel Bucky's tension even through the many layers of clothes that were between them, and Steve knew that Bucky felt it in him, too. They had known each other inside out in 1944, and Steve liked to think that he knew the Bucky in Wakanda pretty well by now. But between him and this Bucky in his new timeline, there were still too many things unsaid, too many lifetimes between them.

"I'll keep first watch," Bucky offered. "Get some sleep."

Steve's protest fell on deaf ears.

Reluctantly, Steve let his head drop back against the rock and closed his eyes. He could hear a bird whistling in the distance, and Bucky's breathing. Something creaked not far away. It could be a tree suffocating under the weight of the snow, he told himself. But he couldn't help thinking of the plane in the ice. The freezing cold, the darkness, the sounds – Steve took a shuddering breath.

Not many people knew that Captain America was afraid of the dark and cold. Each by itself was manageable, but the combination set his teeth on edge and sent his thought into dark corners in the back of his mind that he usually managed to avoid. Sam had been the first he'd confessed this fear to. Some time later, it had been Wanda. He still didn't quite know how it had happened. They'd talked a lot after the airport fight and the raft. There was something about her that made it easy to open up. Maybe it had something to do with her abilities. Somehow, knowing that a person could enter your mind at any point if they wanted to, but never did, made it easier to just lay it all bare.

Steve shifted a little and tried to focus on something – anything – else. He felt Bucky's presence beside him and smiled involuntarily. No matter what might happen in this future, he'd done his part so far. Bucky was safe. It didn't change anything for Bucky who was left behind and currently counting the seconds until Steve's return. This truth was hard to accept, but Steve forbade himself to dwell on this for too long. At least in this timeline his friend would not suffer the horrible fate of the Winter Soldier. Maybe there wouldn't be any other Winter Soldiers, either. It had been Bucky who'd stolen the serum from Howard Stark, after all, and with him out of the picture this might become a future in which Tony's parents survived.

Steve didn't realize how his breathing hitched until Bucky nudged him softly with his elbow.

"Can't sleep?"

Steve shook his head and tried in vain to get the picture of a dying Tony Stark out of his head.

"Not really, no."

"What is it?"

"Just some memories." Steve let his head drop back against the rock and gazed at the starry sky. It was a peaceful night, and yet his mind couldn't find rest. His cheeks were frozen and every movement of muscle sent tiny pinpricks of cold through his nerves. The black and white photo of Bucky in the cryo tank flashed before his eyes, and it took all he had to neither pull Bucky close and never let go, nor get up and destroy every HYDRA base he could lay his fingers on. "I hate the cold," he confessed.

"You always have," Bucky reminded him. "Made your asthma worse and your mum was always worried you'd catch pneumonia."

"It's not just that. I died in the ice. And I remember it, Buck. The impact, the darkness, the ice closing in on me… and the weird thing is, I wasn't scared back then. _Will_ not be scared." Steve didn't know where the words came from, but once he started, he couldn't stop. Then again he'd learned the hard way that some words should be said right away. "I didn't have a death wish, don't get me wrong. But after everything that had happened, after all the missions, the battles… with all those we lost, and after losing you – it seemed like this was the logical consequence. After all the failures, this was the moment to redeem myself, and it was okay. But now I dream of the dark and cold and the ice comes closing in, and it screams the stories of my failures and -"

"Your failures?" Bucky echoed softly. "I was there, Steve. For most of it, anyway. The kid from Ohio bled out right under my fingers. In Italy, I watched a guy escape unscathed from a bomb that killed half his squad because that lucky bastard stopped to tie his fucking shoe lace. This is war. Those deaths aren't on you. _My death_ isn't on you."

But Bucky only knew this part of Steve's life. Steve had told him that he'd joined some sort of Special Forces after his defrosting, and it wasn't really a lie, was it, but there was no way he could tell his friend about the more recent history and the losses and regrets that had come with it.

He smiled when he felt Bucky move beside him to come a little closer. It was Bucky's way of comforting when words couldn't reach him, and it was enough to make the ice and dark in Steve's mind retreat a little. The small gesture made him feel warmer than he had all night. It reminded him of the time in Wakanda. For one and a half years, he'd spent as much time as possible in the African country. After Bucky's de-cryogenation he'd stayed for two months, allowing both Bucky and himself to heal and finally, after all the years apart, to get to know each other again. It had been Bucky who'd pressed him to go back to work eventually, and so Steve had assembled his small group to take up the fight again. But always, his path had led him back to Wakanda. Sam and Natasha had joined him from time to time, they had received emails from Wanda and Vis, and Steve had made sure to skype Bucky whenever possible during his missions across the world.

One and a half years to make up for all the time they'd lost.

Again, Steve felt his insides twisting at the thought of his plans. He hated himself for his doubts when he knew in his heart that he was just doing what Bucky and Sam wanted him to do. What Tony had wished for him to do.

"Steve? You with me?"

He flinched and turned his head a little to look at his friend. He could barely make out Bucky's face in the dark of the night.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. It's just… it's easier said than done, not blaming myself."

"Well," said Bucky and briefly squeezed his shoulder, "I'm here now. I'll remind you, if you do the same for me."

"Always."

He still didn't sleep that night, but his mind steered clear of any disturbing thoughts. For now, that had to be enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**1944 - Switzerland**

They reached the border the next day. Finally, luck was on their side again and hey managed to pass the fence unseen once the patrol was out of sight. Security was kind of lax there, and Steve hoped that their good lucky streak would hold.

Bucky was more relaxed than ever before, and the sight of his smiling was enough to erase any pessimistic thoughts that crossed Steve's mind. Bucky's leg had healed nicely, just as he'd anticipated, and even his shoulder wasn't troubling him as much as it used to. Steve suspected some sort of ligament injury, a result from crashing shoulder first into the rock during the fall. He would have liked a medic to check on his friend, but right now, there was no way to get to a doctor without raising suspicions. After all, Bucky assured him that it wasn't all that bad, and Steve needed to remind himself that it could have been much worse.

"Hey Steve, see that farm over there?"

Bucky pointed East and Steve squinted against the winter sun. He nodded and clapped Bucky on the shoulder.

"I forgot how great your eyesight was."

"You may be a super soldier, but you _are_ getting old. You must be, what, a hundred now?" Bucky joked and ducked just in time to dodge Steve's light nudge in the side.

Steve bit back a witty comeback that was on the tip of his tongue.

"What happened to respect for the elders, huh?" he asked instead in what he hoped was a good imitation of their neighbor back in Brooklyn. Bucky laughed and walked faster, putting an especially youthful jump into his stride.

Their expressions became serious when they approached the farm, which turned out to be just the first house of two dozen. A small village that looked like it hadn't been touched by the war at all. Still, Steve couldn't help but turn his head left and right, always on alert. Beside him, Bucky had resumed to his typical soldier stance.

"What d'you think?" he hissed and nodded in the direction of the farm. There was a barn right next to it and a building that Steve assumed was the stable. Smoke rose from the chimney.

"We don't have a choice, do we?"

Ultimately, it was Steve who knocked on the door. He wondered if anyone could hear his heart beating against his ribcage. He held his breath when the door opened. They were faced with a middle-aged, brown-haired woman dressed in a plain skirt and blouse. She only opened the door wide enough to look at the two men, and behind her legs Steve could just see an alarmingly huge dog.

"Was wollen Sie?"

Steve held his hands up with his palms directed at her to show that he was unarmed. Bucky imitated the gesture.

"Do you speak English?" he asked hopefully, and almost sighed with relief when the woman gave a slight nod. "My name is… Grant Carter," he said more hastily that intended. Ever since Bucky's rescue, he had realized that using his real name might spoil all his plans. You could never be too careful. "And this is James. My brother."

The woman furrowed her brow and assessed the two men, clearly wondering how two brothers could look so little alike. Footsteps on the stairs announced the approach of a man. He was almost as tall as Bucky and he stepped protectively to the woman's side. Husband and wife, Steve knew immediately.

Bucky stepped forward. He flashed the woman one of those smiles that used to make the New York girls swoon from downtown to uptown and reached his hand out towards the man to shake his.

"Ich heiße James. Es ist ein Freude zu kennenlernen."

The woman chuckled and returned the smile, which gave Steve just the time to regain his composure. He made a mental note to give Bucky an earful later on. He'd had no idea that his friend spoke German.

"Was kann ich für Sie tun?" said the man.

Bucky didn't respond and looked very uneasy. Apparently, his language skills weren't that good after all.

"Well, I hope my English is better than your German. How can I help you?"

Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance.

"Our unit was captured in Austria," Bucky said quietly and managed to add a slight quiver to his voice. "Some of us tried to escape, but…"

Steve laid a hand onto his shoulder and looked straight at the woman.

"We were the only ones who got away. The others weren't as lucky. We've been on the run for six days."

"St- Grant caught a bullet," Bucky added, biting his tongue at the last second. "Pushed me outta the way and got hit instead."

"You know I'd die for you."

The quiet sigh of the woman didn't go unnoticed by Steve. She bought the story. Jackpot. Her husband nodded.

"My name is Anton Weis, and this is my wife Anita," he introduced himself and opened the door a little wider. The dog approached them, but as soon as Anton reached out his hand to shake Steve's, the dog wiggled its tail and just sniffed at Steve's dirty boots. "This is Hasso."

Hasso seemed to be some sort of mixed breed, with black and brown fur and pointy ears. Reluctantly, Steve patted the dog on the back. There hadn't been any dogs in Brooklyn, neither in the 40s nor in the 21st century. He'd met Clint's dog on the farm once, though.

To his surprise, Bucky was entirely unfazed by the dog and immediately crouched down to pet its head. Hasso returned the affection by licking his face, at which point Anita intervened and scolded the dog while Bucky just grinned and wiped his cheek with his sleeve.

"I wish everyone was as happy to see me," he joked and looked more relaxed than Steve had seen him in days.

Anita led them to the kitchen.

"You must be hungry. My husband and I usually eat at six but I don't think you can wait that long."

She set up the stove and clattered with the pots for a while, and quickly a sweet scent hung in the air that made Steve's mouth water.

He let his gaze wander across the room. Some black and white photographs in silver frames were positioned on the cupboard, two paintings were hung up on the wall. It was a nice home, seemingly untouched by the war. And here they were, two soldiers on the run, about to turn everything upside down. Steve almost regretted having knocked on the door.

It was only then that he noticed the sparse decorations. Behind Bucky's back, the door leading to the living room was ajar, and he could see a small tree.

"Oh God… it's Christmas."

Bucky's eyes widened, and Steve couldn't help but get a little teary-eyed for a second.

Anita smiled and gestured at the food that she placed in front of them.

"You are lucky."

They were sharing their Christmas leftovers, Steve understood and almost hugged the foreign woman right there and then.

"And what are your plans now?" asked Anton with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind having you here for a while. The Germans don't come here. But if you want to send a telegram, there will be questions. I will not risk that."

"I understand that. We don't want to stay long, just lay low for a while. Oh wow, thank you!"

Steve smiled gratefully as Anita scooped another pile of some red cabbage onto his plate.

"I know a little bit about medicine," said Anita to Steve. "Maybe I should take a look?"

"No, no that won't be necessary!" Steve dismissed her quickly. By the looks of it, it was the right answer for Anton's liking. Granting asylum to two men was one thing, but having you wife tend to one of them was something entirely different. "It'll be okay. It's not the first time."

"My brother's a reckless little shit – oh fuck - sorry!" Bucky had the decency to look mortified when the word slipped past his lips.

Anita shook her head and laughed. She said something in Swiss and Anton took her hand.

"You can swear if you like. It will remind my wife who the true gentleman is."

Steve couldn't suppress a grin. It was kind of cute to see the two middle-aged people together. Automatically, his thoughts travelled to Peggy. He couldn't help but wonder what she was doing right now. Three days ago she must have comforted his other self in the bombed-out bar. Now, somewhere, it was time to focus on the next mission. Steve remembered the days as a blur of grief and fury, a time when all he thought about was revenge for his best friend. It had taken the combined efforts of the Howling Commandos, Howard and Peggy to keep him from murdering Zola in his cell and storming off to kill every HYDRA agent to cross his way. He'd spent Christmas Eve '44 in a bombed-out bar and tried to drink the pain away.

An elbow in his side shook him from his dark thoughts.

"Mr. Weis said we could stay in their attic."

"It's not much, but it's all I can offer," added the elder man. "My wife will give you blankets and see what she can find in the cellar, I don't know if we have a spare mattress. If not, there is straw in barn, we can arrange something with that."

"We can also just stay in the barn, right _Grant_?" Bucky suggested and exchanged a look with Steve. It was good thinking. They were less likely to be overheard there.

"Yeah, we can do that," Steve agreed and brushed off Anita's concern that it would be too cold. It would just be a couple of days, he thought, before they'd leave the place. "We don't want to bother you. Also, if there's anything we can do for you to compensate… James is a good mechanic and we can both do some heavy lifting."

Anton shrugged and gave the two men a scrutinizing look.

"There isn't so much farm work in winter but the cows will need feeding. And a clean stable."

"Sounds great."

Bucky managed to sound enthusiastic. Steve didn't remind him that neither of them had ever mucked out a stable. How hard could it be, really?

They followed Anton to the barn. It was dark outside, the sky a black tapestry of a million stars above the mountain range. Anita had provided them with a couple of blankets, a small lantern and the strict warning to not set the place on fire. Once his wife was out of earshot, Anton added a few more warnings to the list, most of which were about the neighbor's daughters and the three German Shepherds that guarded them.

"Should'a told him you're saving yourself for a special lady," said Bucky as soon as Anton was gone. He arranged his makeshift bed made of just a couple of flour bags filled with straw. Steve didn't reply. His throat had gone dry and he was suddenly glad that Bucky could barely see him in the dim light.

Would Peggy still want him? This version of him, and not the Steve she knew and would lose in the ice? He was aware of the way Bucky treated him. He'd thought it was because of the whole time travel thing, but what if it was just about him? He'd changed so much, he realized again and again. He wasn't like the Steve who went – would go – into the ice. Bucky felt that, too. And for the first time, Steve couldn't shake the feeling that, for Peggy and Bucky, he'd always just be a substitute for the man they'd loved and lost. He thought of Anton and Anita, of the easy banter between the two; he thought of Tony and Pepper who'd spent ten years together, battling all obstacles in their way; he thought of Clint and Laura and the life they'd built over the years.

"Steve?"

"I'm a fool," he said hollowly and buried his face in his hands. "I think I'm a goddamn fool."

"What gave you that idea?"

Steve shook his head and avoided his friend's gaze. He couldn't say this out loud. He had to keep up the pretense that he had a plan, that he knew what he was doing. That's who they saw, wasn't he, the star-spangled man with a plan? He couldn't bother Bucky with his worries. Not Bucky, who seemed tired and somewhat uneasy and who'd had to deal with so much lately.

"Hey, Steve, come on pal, what's the matter?"

"It's nothing. Just… I'm not the man she lost in '45. Maybe I'm overthinking this, but what if… what if she doesn't even like me?"

H knew he sounded like a twelve year old kid that had a crush on the girl next door. But then again, he _did_ feel like a twelve year old when it came to Peggy Carter. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman and so much more, and somehow he still couldn't quite believe that he was worthy to not only be noted, but even be missed by her.

Bucky took his time, but when he answered it was with a sincerity that he saved for few occasions.

"No, you're not the same man. And she's not the same woman as the one you lost when you died. I'm sure losing you changed her, just like losing her – and me, I suppose – changed you."

"But she was, Buck. The same, I mean." Steve realized that he should have filled Bucky in on a few more details of his past. "When I came out of the ice, she was still alive. Old, but still herself. I visited her. She'd had a life, Buck. A life with a husband and kids – a life without me. And somehow, going back to her now feels wrong on so many levels because of this, even though I know that nothing I do will change her past."

"Right. Alternative timeline."

"But then again, I picture her and me and nothing's ever seemed so right in all my life."

He couldn't see Bucky in the dark, but he knew that he was smiling to himself.

"You've travelled through time and space. You can do that again if things don't work out. So tell me, what do you have to lose?"

It wasn't entirely correct, though. In that moment, Steve didn't have any more Pym particles, and it would take some time until he might get his hands on them again. They were yet to be invented, after all. But Bucky's words echoed in Steve's head. There was a simple truth to them. He didn't have anything to lose, not anymore. It was the second chance he'd been wishing for.

"Thanks, Buck."

He finally lay down to sleep. He could hear Bucky shuffling beside him, but he didn't mind. It helped to block out the voices inside his head. Just as he was on the brink of falling asleep, he remembered that he'd meant to ask Bucky if he was alright. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something seemed off about his friend. Ever since they'd arrived at the house, he'd seemed uneasy despite the friendliness of their hosts. Probably just sleep deprivation, Steve told himself. It was as good an explanation as any.

"Merry Christmas, Steve."

"Merry Christmas, Buck."

* * *

A/N: "Was wollen Sie?" = "What do you want?" / "Was kann ich für Sie tun?" = "What can I do for you?" / "Es ist ein Freunde zu kennenlernen." = (grammatically incorrect) "It's a pleasure to meet you."

A/N 2: Anton and Anita were my grandparents' names. They were German, not Swiss, and with a different last name, but they did live in a small village. (They were younger in 1944, though, just in their early twenties.)


End file.
